


Angel Hair

by replicates



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Captivity, Reader-Insert, Stockholm Syndrome, boyfriend to death 2, gender neutral reader, i fucked up angel hair pasta and this happened, pasta disasters, reader has no gender, ren route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 07:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10432971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/replicates/pseuds/replicates
Summary: And sleep comes easy because you knowthere’s no one in this world as loved as you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I got super into Ren's route for BTD2, and then I ruined angel hair pasta. So somehow this happened? It's my first actual fanfic so it might not be good, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! I apologize if it seems jarring going from the seriousness to the jokes. I was trying for seemingly cheerful with underlying creepy, but...

Even a year

 

_an entire year, three-hundred-and-sixty-five days since you last saw your family and friends_

 

after he brought you home, you still let Ren cook every meal.

 

It's not that you don't like to, or you're somehow set-water-on-fire bad at it, but he seems to enjoy it and your cooking knowledge… Well, it pretty much stays in the realm of putting ramen in a pot and setting the timer. You aren’t exactly whipping up Iron Chef dishes on a whim here. But it’s okay, because apparently "I'll take care of you" includes happily cooking for you every day, and it's nice.

 

He asks what you like, keeps your favorite snacks in the house, he loves you so of course he wants to make you happy. There’s been more than one late night call to whatever local group delivers non-delivery food, just for you.  And it’s

 

_like a mantra in this house, said every night before you go to bed,_ **_I love you I love you I love you_ ** _, back and forth so you won’t forget_

 

the most you’ve ever felt cherished and wanted in your entire life. You’re safe here, no worries about the world outside. Ren wasn’t lying when he told you you’d need for nothing in this house. Not with the passwords and the money and whatever else the previous owner had left behind. There’s no worry about bills or people or if you’ll have enough food to stretch until your next paycheck. It’s almost too perfect, and it’s

 

_almost easy to forget, but the shock collar around your neck is always a solid reminder you don't have much choice_

 

not as scary as it was at first. The empty-looking bedroom has become yours, slowly filled with books and video games and clothes forgotten on the floor. It even has a new bedspread that Ren’s not infrequent nightly visits have left orange-ish fur all over despite how many times you’ve tried to get it off. At some point you’d settled into happy, spending your days cuddled into Ren’s side watching movies or

 

_the special unlabeled videos he still pulls out on occasion, a wicked grin on his lips as you lay your head on his shoulder and listen to some long dead unfortunate scream_

 

the magical girl anime Ren is so fond of and you put up with for his sake.

 

…But you’ve gotten off-track, haven’t you? Train of thought just speeding in whatever direction it wants. Free time does that.

 

The point is, for an entire year, Ren has cooked for you every day. But today marks one year since the day he came into your life and there’s not much you can give to someone who can buy whatever he wants when you can’t even go outside. So, you’d taken it upon yourself to do this one thing for your ‘anniversary’, all the needed items casually added onto the grocery list taped to the fridge a few days ago. It was going to be perfect.

Except. _Except._

Apparently different kinds of pasta needed different amounts of time to cook, and how were you supposed to know that? Why is angel hair so special it needs more attention than normal spaghetti noodles? It’s apparently the pasta equivalent of a diva, given the spectacular disaster it led to.

See: One (1) pot of what once was some sort of noodle shape, now a mushy heap where it wasn’t burned to the bottom. Not too far, you’ll find a smashed jar of tomato sauce, unable to fulfill its pasta-saucing duties when your attempts at scraping the mushy mess out of the pot led to an errant elbow. It made a valiant effort to spread its saucy goodness as far as it could, leaving a pretty decent radius of sauce on the floor and painting some of the bottom cabinets to boot.

If it ended there, your dignity might still be somewhat intact. You might be able to walk out of this kitchen with your head held high, and nonchalantly request Ren order a pizza and come up with some gift from there.

 

Except you somehow managed set water on fire.

 

The second pot, filled with only water, is _literally on fire_.

 

What was supposed to be a dumb joke about college students trying to cook for the first time has become your life. And the world isn’t done, because of course it’s not—

 

“El? What’s going on?”

 

And there’s Ren behind you, no doubt drawn by the smell of something burning, fluffy red head peeking past the doorway of the kitchen like the sauce hasn’t dropped and it’s about to go for him. It’s almost comical how quickly his expression goes from

 

_cautious, careful, a look that lets you know he’s prepared if you decide to try anything as he unlocks the chain and holds the remote. It’s familiar in a way that isn’t, a repeated action in a different context._

 

concerned to shocked. And then he’s bustling into the kitchen and you’d like to claim he’s magic from how fast he has everything taken care of. The fire is out, the sauce is cleaned up, and the sludge that once called itself noodles has been banished to the trash can, burnt pot filled with water and left to soak so it can fight another day. It’s like nothing ever occurred in here, the reset button hit on a model kitchen in a simulation game.

 

There’s no frustration or recrimination in his eyes, no mockery. Just a soft smile as his arm snakes around your waist with a

 

_Insistent, almost commanding strength. He moves you around as easily as a doll, his to reposition and place as he pleases. Mine Mine Mine his eyes seem to say sometimes._

 

soothingly familiar pressure and he leads you out of the kitchen.

 

“You should’ve just asked me to make something.” He says, fingers gently stroking over your hip. It’s soft, comforting, and he looks pleased despite your failure. “You really can’t do anything on your own, huh? It’s good you have me to take care of you.” And then you’re being led up the stairs, hand dropped from your waist to take your own, fingers interlaced. It’s a

 

_triumphant, possessive_

 

affectionate gesture.

 

Later, he holds you close as you drift off to sleep. Nothing exists outside of this house anymore, and nothing needs to. Just as he said, you have everything you need right here. And sleep comes easy because you know

 

_how it ended but you wonder sometimes what he would have done if you hadn’t said it back, if you’d looked him in the eye and denied that small gleam of desperation you saw there_

 

there’s no one in this world as loved as you.

 


End file.
